


Have You Seen This Wizard?

by blanketed_in_stars



Series: 52 Weeks of Wolfstar [24]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1993, Dementors (Harry Potter) - Freeform, Dreams and Nightmares, Hogwarts Express, Hogwarts Third Year, M/M, Panic Attacks, Platform 9 3/4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 14:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4182561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanketed_in_stars/pseuds/blanketed_in_stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nightmares, Dementors, panic—and chocolate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have You Seen This Wizard?

**Author's Note:**

> Week 24

Remus sees him everywhere.

It's not like before, when he was tucked into every dark corner and some of the better lit-ones too, so that every part of Remus's life was like a minefield. No, this is worse. Just when Remus had started to—not to move on, he supposes, but to live with it—that's when the posters went up.

Now he averts his eyes from the closest one and watches as the steam gathers around the scarlet engine. Station personnel walk back and forth along the platform; apart from them, Remus is alone. When Dumbledore came to talk about teaching he'd been without a job for three months, and since he's got no other way to get to Hogwarts and nothing better to do with his time, here he is, two hours before departure.

He hadn't wanted the job at first, despite his dreams of teaching. It had seemed too risky, too painful. Too far from home, because that little cottage will always be his anchor, even if it does hurt to walk through the door. But then Dumbledore had mentioned Wolfsbane and say what you will about Severus Snape, he knows his potions.

"There's very little risk here," Dumbledore had said, interlacing his fingers on the kitchen table. "I would even go so far as to say none at all, if you take the potion."

Still, Remus had argued. "I've never taught a day in my life. I haven't even spent time around kids in years."

Dumbledore had sipped his tea and smiled. "Yet you have always expressed an interest in teaching, since your fifth year at least. This is your chance to make a dream reality. You need not return for a second year if you would prefer not to."

Eventually his opposition had started to seem ridiculous, and that had been that.

The only question is, can he bear it? Well, he's made up his mind: he's got to. He hasn't seen Andromeda in two years, and Moody in five. There's only so much solitude a person can take, even a wet blanket like him.

Remus opens the newspaper he bought and looks for the crossword. He carefully avoids the man staring at him from the front page, leering from behind hair that Remus used to run his fingers through.

**\---**

Some time later he blinks awake at a shout of laughter. The first of the students have arrived, pushing trolleys and waiting for their friends. Remus glances at his watch and sees that it's just past ten o'clock. He gets to his feet, ignoring his pounding head and the ache in all his bones, to seek silence on the train.

He heads to the very last compartment and sits huddled in a corner, as far away as he can get from the posters that watch him through the window. Within minutes, he is asleep again.

As he always has, Remus dreams of wolves. This time it's the real thing, not a fantasy of running and falling. He dreams of curling up beneath slightly lumpy blankets and shivering in the sudden wind, of only opening his eyes when he hears the growling—and by then it's too late. The pain is bad, and now in the dream Greyback is no longer an unfamiliar beast, but a dog with thick black fur and malice in its eyes.

Remus turns in his sleep and the dream changes. Sirius is bending over him and smiling, kind, the way he used to. Remus smiles back as his vision dims—he's cold—Sirius pulls something over his eyes and—

He jerks into consciousness to find that he can't see a thing. The blackness seems to be alive, to twist and turn and block every attempt at finding light. He fumbles in his robes for his wand as children talk around him.

"I was looking for Ron—"

"Come in and sit down—"

"Not here! I'm here!"

"Ouch!"

Remus's fingers wrap around cypress. "Quiet!" he croaks, his voice hoarse from sleep. Flames fill his hand. In the sudden brightness he can see that the compartment is crowded, with five students, a cat, and an owl squashed into the space. Remus's eyes fall on one of the boys, who has glasses and very untidy hair, and feels as though he has just received a punch to the gut. _James,_ he thinks, and his heart stops.

He knows it's not James, knows that this must be Harry—he knows those eyes, too, and they belonged to Lily. Remus stands like an old man. "Stay where you are," he tells them. He moves toward the door, but it's opening.

The Dementor can't see him, Remus tells himself. He takes a steadying breath against _happened last night down in England, if you can believe it, they're dead, Remus, I'm very sorry_ and raises his wand. "None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks," he says. "Go." He calls forth the memory of the Transfiguration classroom and small dragons on desks and whispers, _"Expecto Patronum."_ The silver vapor momentarily blinds Remus. When the glare fades he sees that the Dementor is already gliding away.

The train shudders into motion again, and Remus grips the luggage rack to keep his balance. The last vestiges of the full moon haven't quite left him—he grimaces, watching as Harry comes to, and searches his trunk for chocolate.

When he finds the bar, he realizes that his hands are shaking. It's not the moon this time, but the memory. Not the good one. _Sirius was a spy—_ Remus snaps the chocolate into bits and hands out the pieces.

"What was that thing?"

It takes him a moment to realize that Harry has spoken to him. "A Dementor," he replies. "One of the Dementors of Azkaban." He hates that word, the harshness of its consonants and the long stretches of its vowels. Again, his fingers tremble. He balls up the empty wrapper and clenches his fist around it in his pocket to stop the tremors.

"Eat, it'll help," he instructs. Something is clawing at his throat, although he can still breathe, not like _you can't blame yourself, Lupin._ "I need to speak to the driver," he says evenly. "Excuse me…"

All the students have returned to their own compartments—barricaded themselves in, most likely. Remus leans against the wall and closes his eyes. His breath comes in short gasps, his heart pounds—he is alone—there are tears on his cheeks—

Remus forces his eyes open. "Yes, you're alone," he mutters to himself, rubbing his face with both hands. He can breathe. He is not drowning. "Might as well get a move on, then."

He heads down the train, which rumbles and hisses like everything he tries so hard to forget.


End file.
